


the person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger

by TheDeadRoses



Category: Agents of SHIELD - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mike and Lincoln in 2, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeadRoses/pseuds/TheDeadRoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of angsty skyeward drabbles and fluffy everything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Five Times Skye Talks to Ward, and One Time She Doesn't

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry.

I.  
The first time, they're in a mission briefing. She comes late, darting in with her hair hastily drawn into a ponytail. He's up against the wall, trying to avoid the glares of his team members.  
"Sorry I'm late," she says, tightening her hair. "Lincoln woke up. I left Agent- I mean, I left Kara with him."  
Grant smiles at her correction, but quickly stops when she notices him.  
"What's he doing here?"  
"Agent Ward has agreed to help us on our mission. Don't worry, we'll be monitoring him. Now please, Skye, sit down."  
She sends him one last glare and then follow's Coulson's instructions. 

II.  
The second time, they're in the lab, watching Simmons patch up some agent who had been injured on a mission. Skye is sitting on the counter, swinging her legs as she talks.  
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Simmons asks the agent, who shakes his head.  
"Alright. You're all set."  
Skye's and Simmons' gazes both land on Ward, who is leaning on the wall, away from the group.  
"We're you hurt?"  
"No," he says. The agent frowns.  
"I thought you got hit?"  
"False alarm. I'm fine."  
He can tell Skye's eyes are on his torso and looks down, noticing a stain of blood.  
"If you're sure..."  
"I am." He stands, flashes a smile, and heads back to his bunk.  
He cuts the bullet out himself.

III.  
The third time, they're on the quinjet, surrounded by Simmons, Coulson, May, and a tall blonde he's told is named Bobbi.  
Their eyes are all on him, specifically Simmons, who he already knows would be fine with killing him. The guilt is welling up in his chest, making it hard to breathe.  
"Are you alright, Ward?" Coulson asks, without any real concern. "You look like you're going to throw up."  
"I'm fine. Didn't get a lot of sleep."  
"That won't interfere with the mission, will it?"  
"No, sir."  
They fall into silence again, leaving Ward to clench his hands into fists to stop from shaking. His breath is shaky and loud.  
"One moment," he mutters, unstrapping himself and standing up. He makes it into the empty cockpit before he breaks down, sliding down the wall and hugging his knees to his chest.  
They send Bobbi in a few minutes later, and he tries to gather himself, but his heart is racing and his head is spinning and dammit, it's almost impossible to talk to her normally.  
"You can't handle being in there,can you?"  
"What do you think?"  
"They'll get easier to deal with. You're trying to be better, I can tell. They just need to notice that."  
When he comes back out a few minutes later, Skye is watching him with her brow furrowed.  
"You okay?"  
"Fine."  
It gets easier. 

IV.  
The fourth time, she's joking with him. Or trying to, at least.  
They're on the couch, relaxing after a mission with the rest of the team. It's been months since he rejoined them, now. Most of his trackers have been taken off (he's still on suicide watch, but that doesn't concern him much– he hasn't thought about it for a long time). He's regained their trust, for the most part. He's even sort of friends with Bobbi and Lance, depending how you looked at it. Skye still isn't talking to him, but every once in a while he'll catch her staring.  
They've been talking about tattoos, joking about getting them and about how they would make being captured so much easier, when Skye turns to him and says, with a laugh,  
"We could get matching ones on our stomachs. They'd cover the scars, eh?"  
"What?" Ward asks weakly, caught off guard. Skye's face falls.  
"I was... It was a joke."  
"I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."  
Everyone stops talking, watching the two look at each other awkwardly.  
"I said we could get matching tattoos on our stomachs. They'd cover the bullet scars."  
"Oh." He smiles. "That's funny."  
They both look away, blushing. Eventually the others start talking again, and Ward gets up and heads back to his bunk.  
As soon as he gets there, he starts to cry. 

V.  
The fifth time, she's yelling at him.  
They're in the kitchen, him sitting on a stool, her leaning on the fridge. He'd made Fitz cry– honestly, he'd just been trying to apologize. Again.  
He's been back for eleven months, now, but while he'd been regaining their trust, his old friendships would take a lot longer than that to fix. Fitz specifically he had always avoided, because the guilt of literally dropping his friends in the ocean was too much for him to bear.  
Today, though– today he had thought he was ready. He'd been going to apologize, to try to start over. But instead, he'd just started a fight.  
"You're a good for nothing Hydra son of a bitch!" She spits at him, and he doesn't argue, because he knows Skye and he knows she won't stop. "I wish I'd never met you. You know that? I wish you'd never been born. I wish your brother killed you."  
He still doesn't talk, and that makes her even angrier.  
"You know what, Grant? I hope you die on that mission tomorrow."  
And then she's gone. 

VI.  
She wishes she'd never yelled at him.  
That's all she can think. Her mind is numb. She can still hear them, sure; comforting her, telling her that they're sorry.  
But they aren't.  
It's been seven days since Grant left for Paris with Coulson and their team. It's been three since they were supposed to have come back.  
The first night, she'd told herself that they'd just run into some trouble. The second, she'd started to worry. By the third, she was sure they were never coming back.  
But they do come back.  
And Grant isn't with them.  
"We tried," Coulson tells her later. "He was taken before we were supposed to leave. We looked, but by the time we got there, it was too late. He couldn't have survived what they did to him. I'm sorry."  
She cries the whole night, not letting anybody comfort her. Even Fitz tries, though she can tell he doesn't really care that Ward is dead.  
It's been twenty when Bobbi comes running into her bunk.  
"Come on," she says, tugging her out of her bed. "It's about Ward."  
It's like the world slows down when she sees him.  
He was two scars, one across his forehead and one from his cheek to his neck. His face is caked with blood, and he tries to stay off of his leg when he moves, but it's still Ward.  
Before she knows it, she's running towards him, throwing herself into his arms and bringing her lips to his. He catches her in surprise, stumbling, but returns the kiss.  
"Never do that to me again," she orders. Grant smiles and leans down to wrap his arms around her.  
"That won't be a problem."


	2. cos most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically, an excuse to write about Mike and Lincoln's friendship. It's cute I promise.

When he wakes up, all he can think about is the pain.   
It's everywhere. He can feel it blossoming in his ribcage, his abdomen, his hipbones. His forehead is drenched in sweat, and his hands shake when he tries to use them.  
"Welcome back."   
"Oh, God." Lincoln groans, slumping back onto the floor. He'd tried to sit up, resulting in a burst of fresh pain. The speaker, who he recognizes as Mike (minus an eye) puts a gloved hand on his arm.   
"Stay still. They were pretty rough on you."   
"Looks like they were on both of us."   
"This?" Mike gestured to his eye. "It's nothing. Wasn't mine, anyway."   
"How long have..."   
"You been here? A few hours. Long enough."   
Both are silent for several moments; Mike staring at the wall, Lincoln staring at Mike. Around them, Hydra agents' muted voices and the beeps of machines seep through the walls.   
It's Mike who breaks the silence.   
"How do you feel?"   
"Like shit."   
"I would think so. On the bright side, they'll probably knock you out again soon."   
"How is that bright?"   
"You won't feel it." Mike sighs. "Look, kid, I know it hurts. But it'll get better. Or," he adds, with another sigh. "It'll end."   
Lincoln starts to attempt a smile but stops, grimacing as the pain in his stomach seems to get worse. He whimpers softly.   
"The medicine must be wearing off. Just relax, it'll help."   
He tries; he really does. But the hard floor of a cell isn't an easy place to do it, and his hand hits his stomach when he tries to get comfortable, leaving him to sobbing in pain.   
Mike gets up and crawls over, taking Lincoln's head into his lap and stroking his hair back from his forehead. It helps slightly, but the pain doesn't ease.   
"I'm sorry. I know it could be worse, but damn, it hurts." He takes a shuddering breath. "I don't want to know what they did to me."   
"Just relax, kid."   
Eventually, he does, falling asleep against Mike's actual leg. They don't come for another two hours, and when they do, that's exactly where he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm s o r r y
> 
> Tumblr: angiemartinalli


End file.
